


Wedding Bells

by lorb



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Repressed, M/M, Sexual Repression, sexual reference but not porn, soft teen rating?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-12 14:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorb/pseuds/lorb
Summary: Eight years later and a wedding invitation shows up at Grif's front door bringing back feelings he wasn't sure he ever forgot, and bringing up feelings Simmons wasn't sure he ever had.





	1. The Things You Miss

Grif is quiet as he fumbles for his keys. He swipes a strand of long dark hair out of his face, grunting. The sun peeks over the trees across the street; night shifts always ruin everything. The door opens with a groan and he immediately trips over a pile of empty boxes, _Simmons would have picked this up by now._ It’s a reflexive thought, even eight years later.

The war is long gone, the old team scattered back across the states. Sarge is in Texas, Tucker in Georgia, Donut went to California, and Simmons off to upstate New York. Grif had decided not to go home. Or what counted as home when you had been moved around the majority of your life.

He had decided to go east as well (causing everyone to hem and haw about his motives, but fuck off, he just picked a state, it had NOTHING to do with Simmons _Guys._ ) and ended up in an interurban suburb of NYC with a noncommital Kai beside him.

Eight years had gone fast. The first year texts and phone calls were near constant, and scheduled meet-ups were met with fidelity. During the second year, the meet-ups became sparse, only Caboose and Sarge and if they were lucky one other member. By the third year, text messages were barely drafted let alone responded to. But isn’t that just the way things go? Basebook died down, letters were never sent, and everyone seemed to forgot about each other.

Well not everyone. There is not a single day that Grif’s mind allows to pass without thinking of Simmons. Some days, there isn’t a single hour. When he finally gives in and does the dishes, _Simmons._ When work is long and boring, _Simmons._ When someone else has red hair, _Simmons._ When someone’s voice cracks, _Simmons._ When the wind blows, _Simmons._

And yet, Grif is caught off guard by the envelope mixed among the bills Kai left for him.

 _To Mr Dexter Grif_. With a return label stating Richard Simmons and Dawn Burchard. Grif swallows, runs a hand through his hair, and collapses on the couch. He flips on the tv but only stares at the pristine envelope, not daring to open it and discover what lies inside.

After two episodes of _something_ , Kai emerges from her room and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She takes in the scene, her brother zoning out, his long hair over the couch, the tv droning on. She takes hold of his thick locks and starts to separate and plate them, tugging enough that he should have complained by now.

“Dude, come on.” Kai nudges him before grabbing hastily at the envelope.

“Give it back!” Grif turns quickly to snatch it and presses down the slightly bent corner with the curled letters spelling out Richard Simmons.

“Who the hell is Dawn Burchard? You guys fuck before?” Kai leans over to get a better look.

“No!” Grif shoves her away.

“Well that’s a relief, because that’s definitely a wedding invite.” Kai shrugs and climbs over the back of the couch to claim the rest of the loveseat.

“It’s a what?”

“A wedding invite. Open it up, ten bucks says I’m right.” Grif rolls his eyes but makes no move to open it.

“It’s not a wedding invite, idiot. There’s no way Dick I-can’t-talk-to-girls-without-crying- Simmons is getting married.” He hopes not, though he wouldn’t admit it to even himself.

“Oh, no shit? It’s your old marine fuck buddy?”

“We never fucked, Kaikaina.” He pulls the envelope tighter to him. He quickly amends, “And we never were going to.” Except that one time and Donut had come in and then they were on other sides of the room and they never talked about it but sometimes Grif would catch Simmons staring at him and half smiling and looking wistful and it reminded him of romantic movies and then everyone would make the marriage jokes and Grif would get a little wistful himself and then he’d remind himself to cut that crap out and Simmons would sometimes sit a little too close to him and their legs would touch and he wou-

“Definitely a wedding invite. Is he trying to rub it in your face? Ooh! Or is it one of those, like, lame last ditch efforts to get you back together?!” And the envelope is gone and Kai has torn into it. The braid comes loose, dropping strand after strand into his face while he waits for her to make the call. She pulls out the contents and Grif reminds himself to breathe. “Your fuck buddy sure is getting married, ‘Save the date, October 28th’.”

And the world drops out from beneath him.

 

* * *

 

Simmons pulls a thick strand of dark brown hair from the mess of curls in front of him. He wants to put his whole hand into it, want to bury his face into it all and breathe deeply.

“What are you doing?” Simmons doesn’t know why he’s surprised by the voice. He drops the hair and the girl turns, a face he doesn’t know why he’s disappointed to see. His fiance, a soft set, curvy woman with creamy white skin and red cheeks.

“You just, umm, nothing, it’s… don’t worry about it, it’s nothing, I was just, you know-”

“You’re fine, Rich.” And Dawn leans up to kiss him on the cheek and the smoothness of her face and the thinness of her lips feels vaguely wrong. “Were you listening to me though, hon?”

“Of course I was!” Simmons doesn’t know why he snaps back. Dawn’s face falls momentarily, but she picks it back up. Dawn is _wonderful._ Dawn is _amazing._ Dawn is _beautiful._ Dawn is _more than you should have ever had with all of your weird insecurities and hangups and odd fixations, I don’t know what more you want out of a partner, Richard, Dawn is perfect for you._ And of course he hears all of this in his mother’s voice.

“Ok, so I sent the invites out. And I know you told me not to, but I invited your old team.” She skirts away from him, making a quick move around a display of crackers. Simmons rams the cart into said display, immediately turning bright red as they crash to the floor.

“Shit-Fuck-I didn’t- damn- It was a- shit-”

“You’re fine, Rich.” And Dawn is smiling and so Simmons shuts his mouth. Because she really _is_ wonderful, and amazing, and way too forgiving and patient and kind. And she really is beautiful… he supposes. That’s what people keep saying. People at the office tell him she’s out of his league and it really is his fault that he just does not care about if she’s beautiful or perfect or whatever. Listen, it isn’t easy to live in Dick Simmons’ mind. None of it makes sense and he’s well aware. The only thing that _does_ make sense is that he feels guilty every time she turns on her smile and kisses him and he just doesn’t care. At least he can have the decency to know what a fucking asshole he is.

“But about your team-”

“Did you get a hold of Grif?” Simmons doesn’t know that he’s saying it until it’s already out in the air, desperately hanging.

“Dexter Grif? Yes, I sent him an invite. I think you ought to-”

“He won’t come.” Simmons hurries to pick up the boxes he knocked over. “Or you got the wrong address- Not that it’s your fault, he just moves around a lot. And he won’t come even if he sees the invite, he’s just like that, don’t take it personally, Grif’s just a stupid shitty asshole and really you won’t want him at your wedd-”

“ _Our_ wedding, Rich.” And that’s enough for Dawn. She doesn’t pick up her dropped smile, and she doesn’t reassure him it’s fine. And Simmons is left feeling like a fucking asshole all over again, until Dawn turns back around and from behind, her dark wild hair enables him to slip into a fantasy long repressed.

 

* * *

 

Grif's hair is thrown over _his_ pillow. Simmons flicks it off with quick motions of disgust.

“Really Grif, your bed is right there. Get out of mine.” Simmons taps his foot impatiently.

“Yeah, but yours was even closer.” Grif smiles with only half of his face. A trait that Simmons desperately loves and hates. He squeaks in frustration and stamps down his foot once more, but this time with resounding emphasis.

“Get out of my bed, fat ass.”

“No, asshole.” And his grin reaches his eyes and Simmons turns red because something inside him slips too quickly before he can stop himself.

“Fine.” And with all the stubborn attitude of a crossed child, Simmons climbs into the bed. Simmons is cold, his metal prosthetics shocking Grif's always too hot skin. There isn't enough room for the both of them but Simmons climbs on top anyway, squirming to try and get comfortable.

Grif swallows and focuses on thoughts of clowns and other disturbing things as his friend writhes over his body. Clowns. and dentists. And teeth. And wide smiles. And freckles. And showers without doors so you have to confront the freckles that are spattered across every square inch of skin.

And Grif is out of the bed. He moves across the room to his own space, and lays down leaving a very confused Simmons to watch and wonder what had happened. He ignores the way his hands itch so bad to run through the hair draped so beautifully across his pillow.


	2. Being Whole

The invite sits buried under bills and ads for two weeks while Grif sulks around the apartment doing everything to avoid it and nothing to stop thinking about it.  His phone rings once, an unknown number he sends to voicemail. His phone rings twice, the same number he silences with frustration. Doesn’t the world know how little he wants to talk to anyone right now? It’s not exactly the best time for conversation, when you’re falling into pieces and panicking about your lost chances at ever feeling whole again.

His phone rings for a third time and he picks it up. A woman's voice calls out hello.

“Whatever she did, I can pick her up as soon as possible.” Grif is already grabbing for the keys and trying to puzzle out what trouble Kai could possibly have gotten into.

“Oh, um… no? I think you’re confused. Is this Dexter Grif?” The voice comes across a bit distorted.

“Is this not about Kaikana Grif?” His thumb swipes toward the red button when she speaks again.

“No this is Dawn. Dawn Burchard? Richard Simmons’ fiance?”

“Oh, shit, ugh, ok… Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t know what you say to a statement like that. Simmons’... fiance?

“Yeah… Dexter?”

“Just Grif is fine.” He scratches his head with eyes wide open.

“Nice to meet you, just Grif!” Her laughter comes in tinny. Grif wants to wake up. This can’t be happening. “This is going to seem odd, but, well, Rich and I-” Rich. Jesus, when did he start going by Rich? It was always Dick. Well it was always Simmons, and Dick when Grif was feeling particularly pissed, or particularly snarky, or particularly in love that day. Today Grif doesn’t know where he stands, just that he wants to say Simmons’ name to his face and not to the empty side of his bed.

“So?” Shit. Where were they? What is she asking?

“Umm… sounds… ugh?”

“I know it’s odd, but I know Rich would love to see you, and since we’re heading into the city any way, I figured it would just make sense.” She laughs again. Dawn’s a giggly personality it appears.

“Oh yeah, no problem. It’d be good to see him too.” Grif opens the fridge to stress eat. What the hell is Simmons going to say if they’re going to see each other for the first time in eight years? When he sees the thinning of his hair and the lines on his face? The extra pounds that spill over the top of his shorts? Any chance they had had would dissipate immediately.

“Ok! Sounds great! So… he doesn’t know I’m calling. Could you do me a little favor and just send him a message? I don’t want to seem like I’m setting up play dates for my fiance but-”

“He wouldn’t get out if you didn’t. Yeah I know the feeling. Donut had to plan our off-weekends or me and Simmons would sit around just fucking around the tv until someone moved us.” Grif opens a pudding and makes his way toward a clean-enough spoon on the counter.

“Oh, that seems very Rich. I’ve interrupted more than a few Battlestar Galactica marathons.”

“Yeah, so what day was that again?”

“Saturday. Thanks Dexter- oh! Grif, I’m sorry, I’ll make sure I keep on myself to get that right. I appreciate it a lot, he’s been off lately. He needs someone who gets whatever’s going on right now, and I don’t quite fit the bill.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll text him.”

“Thanks Grif! I’ll talk to you later!”

Grif a mumbles a goodbye and hangs up the phone. He groans. Hating a woman that nice is going to take some effort. But he has to. She’s the one building the permanent wall between him and his other half.

* * *

   
Simmons watches at first, his eyes wary of his former other half. With Grif not noticing his entrance to the bar, he can really take all of him in. Grif looks the same. He’s gained some weight that hangs over his belt more than it used to, but Simmons really can’t judge. His own belt haloes uselessly around his hips; he’s lost just as much as Grif has found. Without a trigger-happy sergeant to demand what food goes down your throat and at what exact hour, meals just slip by unnoticed.

At least Dawn is here now to take Sarge’s place in putting food in front of him. And to take Donut’s place in giving advice and unending support. And to take Caboose’s place for the required physical touch he can’t seem to shake. And to take Wash’s place to provide structure. But not to fill every need Grif had provided. Despite it all, there is still an ache that she can’t fill.

That ache sits at the bar, a beer bottle clutched in his stocky hands and his hair in a messy knot. Simmons doesn’t know how to approach him. What do you say after you disappear on someone who was once more vital than air? What possibly makes up for eight years of ignoring messages and silencing your phone? ‘Sorry I was so lost without you and I was terrified that you were ok’ doesn’t quite cut it. ‘Sorry I was suddenly forced to evaluate what you meant to me and I’ll never be ready for the answer’ won’t patch things up either. Jesus Christ- what the hell did he have to say?

Grif is right there. Ten fucking feet away from him and Simmons is a minute and a half from hightailing it straight out of the bar and just waiting the time til Dawn comes back around in the parking lot. But in that scenario, surely Grif would leave the bar at some point and then what would he do? He’d be stuck still and probably worse off because then he would have to explain why he had panicked and left Grif alone _again._ And there wouldn’t be a good answer, he’d just stand there sputtering and trying to ignore the unquenchable urge to just _touch_ him and _feel_ him and know that he’s right there and he hasn’t been anywhere this whole goddamn time. But then Simmons would have to actually accept that he wants to do any of that and by the time he would, Grif would probably be dead- but Simmons would probably die before him because of all the stress and panic and overthin-

“Would you just get your ass over here.” Grif’s voice, much like his body, has also not changed. Neither have the eyes that Simmons realizes has been staring at him for a solid part of his inner monologue

“Coming!” Simmons voice rings out the exact same as eight years ago. Almost all whine with the added bonus of ‘smug’ and a dash of ‘needling.’ He approaches the bar and stares at the seats, would it be weird to sit right next to Grif, and therefore basically on top of him? Or would it be weirder to sit two seats away? Simmons swallows as his eyes rove back and forth. Grif sighs and pulls out the chair closest to him. “Thanks.”

“What can I get you, bud?” The bartender smiles as she leans against the bartop. For the next two minutes Simmons stumbles over the required interaction.

“... Gin and tonic.” He finally mumbles as he stares directly away from Grif, noting that Grif is mimicking the action while tipping his beer up and up until it's vertical.

“How the fuck do you get married when you can’t even order a drink.” Grif slams the beer bottle, empty, onto the counter. His bitterness comes through with the soft slur of a third beer.

“We’re not married.” Simmons turns to look at Grif, betraying a desperation he had been mindfully choking down for the past several months at this point.

“Engaged then.” Grif flags the bartender for another beer. There is an edge to Grif that firmly pushes Simmons away. Simmons hates it with words he can’t discern. But then again, it is his fault. Simmons the asshole? He definitely deserves all the bitter hate Grif has to pile on him.

“Listen, you don’t have to go. If you’re going to be such a _crab ass-_ ”

“A what? What the fuck is a crab ass?” Grif’s laughter feels like home and that little empty piece aches a little less for a moment. Simmons doesn’t even need to stop himself from saying as such because he immediately shoves that thought down too. So far down it sits heavy on his stomach and he feels like he’s going to throw up immediately.

“You. You’re a crab ass.” Simmons spits back while silently urging his stomach to just behave.

“Dude, I may be a crab ass, but I’ll be there. Of course, I’ll be there. It’s your-” Grif pauses so quickly Simmons thinks he imagined it, “- ugh, your wedding.” He coughs and knocks the new beer between his hands a few times before continuing on. “Yeah, eight years _sucked_ but they didn’t just erase us. I mean, you’re a lot more annoying than that. It’s gonna take me at least twenty to forget all of that bullshit.”

“Hey!”

“But in the meantime,” Grif looks up and half smiles directly at Simmons. He feels his stomach flip in a long-lost yet familiar way. He’s definitely going to be sick. “I’ll be at your wedding. And I’ll wear a suit, and I’ll even lay off the jokes for the day. Whatever you want, man… so, what do you want?”

“I want you to- um, I guess what I would want is you- I would really like it if you- maybe if you could- You don’t have to! It’s just an idea, it’s ugh, it’s up to you! If you want to say no you can say no! So really it-”

“You haven’t asked me anything yet, loser.”

“Oh! Yeah. So could you be my best man?” Simmons looks up in quiet apprehension.

“Yeah, I mean, I thought I was already your best man. Definitely the best man you know. Who else were you supposed to ask? Tucker?”

“Fuck no. Not Tucker. Never Tucker, Fuck Tucker.”

“Exactly.” And just like that they’re both smiling like old times.

“Yeah, you were _obviously_ the one. We’re just meant to be together, Grif and Simmons.”

“Fuck yeah we are, suck it blues. GrifandSimmons, back at it again.”

So for the first time in eight years, Simmons feels whole.

* * *

Simmons hadn’t been breathing for a minute, and then he had been breathing far too much, choking over the air he desperately pulled into his lungs. And it had all been because Grif had died and come back. There hadn’t been time to take it all in. But suddenly there is. After rerouting the UNSC and stealing a ride back to their bases, they were finally alone. Grif’s helmet in his hands and his hair plastered down in unceremonious helmet hair; Simmons uncomfortably still and sneaking glances whenever he can.

He watches him for just a moment too long, because Grif notices and instead of mocking, his eyebrows raise in a show of compassion. He swallows visibly. The silence feels oppressive but neither does anything to break it. They just stand, locked like that, a meter apart, staring at one another.

“I-” Simmons starts, stops, and looks away. He wishes he still had his helmet on as he can feel the blush running up his body.  “Glad.” He finishes.

“You… glad?” Grif stifles a smile.

“Glad. Yeah.” Simmons rocks his head back and forth for a moment, deciding to lock in on the odd sentiment. “That you didn’t fall off a cliff.”

“Yeah… I glad too.” Grif takes a step closer to punch Simmons in the shoulder just to rub in the blunder. At the same time, Simmons crooks his neck to lay his cheek against Grif’s touch. He hadn’t even planned it. His eyes close and he sighs contentedly feeling Grif’s warm skin on his cheek. Simmons eyes shoot open, his breath comes out shaky as he realizes what he’s done.

“Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. Shit. Grif!” Simmons tries to pull away, but Grif’s hand follows his face, cradling his jaw.

“Shut up.” And Grif is running his thumb across the orange stubble on Simmons’ cheek, forcing his eyes to follow the motion. Simmons closes his eyes and loses himself to the reassurance that yes, Grif is alive. That part of him he had lost is still here, standing beside him, hand pressed against his face. He leans down, pressing his forehead against Grif’s.

“You were dead.” Simmons sighs the words.

“I was never dead.” Grif laughs, reveling in the experience of their closeness.

“For two minutes, you were as good as dead, you fuck. We’re not supposed to be split up- we’re… we’re like a matching set. And I…” He wavers.

“Glad?” Grif smirks.

“No. Not glad! Opposite of glad.” Simmons knocks his head forward, like a frustrated billy goat.

“Mad.” Grif tries again with a smile that taunts.

“No, not mad-”

“Sad?”

“This isn’t a kids book, you piece of shit!” Simmons shoves him away and now Grif can see his eyes. Simmons is crying. “Forget it. If you’re going to be such a jackass then I don’t have to tell you.”

Grif watches Simmons swipe the tears away furiously. They’re still close enough they can feel the heat coming off each other. So Grif decides to take the opportunity to tell him that yes, he’s glad he’s alive too, and that he’s glad that he can finally tell Simmons the things he’s been keeping down for so long. He can say that they’re not just a matching set- they’re what makes each other complete.   

Grif opens his mouth to do just that. “Listen, nerd-” and Simmons shoves him harder and flees the room, audibly crying and anything but glad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am enjoying making them be as clueless as possible. Also a fun note, my go-to playlist for writing Grimmons angst is called 'songs for sad gay people' which both describes me and these boys as I write them.
> 
> Thanks for all the support on chapter 1! I'll be real with you, I have zero idea about how long this sucker's gonna be. I thought it was going to be an incredibly short one-shot but then when I sit down to write it just keeps coming out.


	3. Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This both took a little longer than expected, and went a lot longer than expected. Thanks for reading so far! I hope you like hurting!

“Alright Kai,” Grif sighs as he pulls their beat up sedan into the parking lot of the restaurant. “Remember that I very nicely let you come with me- because you could have stayed at home, and I wouldn’t have even cared if you didn’t get dinner, so obviously I am being a great brother by letting you come.”

“Dude, you aren’t even paying, why the guilt trip?” Kai checks her lipstick in the passenger mirror. “What do you want, just say it. Don’t be such a pussy.”

“Don’t make this suck, ok?”

“Opposite-of-suck is my middle name, bro! Literally impossible for me to not make this fun.” She snaps the mirror back up and flashes a hundred-watt smile at her brother.

“Let me rephrase.” Grif finds a good spot and parks the car. “Fun for you is different than fun for me. And I don’t even _care_ if it is fun for me. Just don’t make this suck for me… or Simmons.”

“Right, right. The two of you have the sucking _on lock._ ”

“Kaikaina! That’s the shit I’m talking about! Cut the goddamn boyfriend shit, ok? Just don’t talk about it. This is going to be really stupid and awkward so do me a favor and don’t make it worse. Just this once, don’t make it worse.”

“I don’t know what ‘just this once’ means, but whatever dude. I’ll just hit on Dawn.”

“Do what you have to do.” Grif groans and the two make their way into the building.

A server opens the door and even though Simmons had told him (and threatened him) about what to wear, Grif already feels like he and his sister doesn’t belong. He begins to fidget with his tie and sweat starts to accumulate on his back. This is all before he spots red-faced Simmons standing by a window compulsively swiping his hair to the left. His clothes fit him well, not as well as the skin tight bodysuit worn under their old armor, but Grif smiles regardless. Everytime he sees him again it’s a resurgence of long lost feelings. Feelings Grif has to consciously remind himself he’s not allowed to have. He strangles them with his mind, forcing his heart to lock up.

“Dick!” Kai bellows beside him. Simmons startles and looks at the pair. His lips twitch in what are the beginnings of a smile but his eyes shoot to his left. “Oh my fucking god. Grif she’s...” Kai covers her mouth but her face still betrays a gleefulness.

Dawn, to the left of Simmons, waves. Her hair is pulled up into a fluffy ponytail, the dark brown curls piling out. She is shorter than Simmons, and her body soft. Simmons shoves his hand into his pocket as they approach.

“Grif! Nice to meet you in person, and you must be Kai! So nice to meet the Grifs.” Dawn puts out a hand and looks between the Grif siblings.

“Yeah but you could be one of us.” Kai takes Dawn’s hand and draws her between her and Grif. “Hey, Dick? Don’t you think we look like we could be siblings? A really crazy coincidence huh?”

“I-um-Sister you’re-jesus-oh-well not really- I mean maybe- no-Grif?!” Simmons coughs and looks for help.

“I mean, we look a little bit alike, it isn’t that astounding. Brown hair and overweight is kind of the status quo, right?” Grif shrugs and heads toward the front of house. Food. He already needs food to get through this.

“Well if you think I look like a Grif, I’ll take it. It seems like a compliment to me!” Dawn’s laughter floats to his ears. Grif rubs his forehead and takes a glance at Simmons, still standing facing the girls. His ears are bright red and Grif can see his fingers tapping nervously in his pocket. The feelings come back immediately, and he reminds himself that they aren’t allowed, even if he can still remember the feel of those same metal fingers tapping against his chest. It’s going to be a very long night.

Once they’re seated, Simmons gets a bottle of wine for the table and Grif is thankful for it as soon as Kai starts the conversation.

“Did you know they fucked?” Simmons chokes on the wine he had been sipping, Grif grabs the bottle and begins to pour his own glass while side checking Dawn to see her reaction. She has a bemused smile and the start of a laugh on her lips.

“We didn’t _have sex._ ” Grif grumbles.

“We never had any sort of inappropriate- any sort of anything- relationship.” Simmons covers.

“Right, you never mentioned your military boyfriend, Rich.” And now Dawn’s really laughing. “Kai you’re a hoot! Come do a comedy set at my bachelorette party!”

“Hey if I get paid I’m down. Or if there are strippers, that’s fair pay too.” Kai winks and Dawn keeps laughing. “Here, how about another one?”

“Kaikaina.” Grif warns.

“Oh come on, we’re just having fun.” Dawn pats his hand, and swipes past Simmons’ frozen look of terror.

“Right so, did you know they weren’t just doing it because there weren’t any babes? They were totally in love. Right, Dicky- boy?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Simmons spits at her, too fast for Grif’s comfort. “I mean, look at your brother. He’s the worst! He was the absolute worst one there!” Grif impulsively grabs at the bread in the center of the table. He tears it apart and tries to block out Simmons’ tirade. “If I had to have a-a-a you know, I would- I could never love your brother.” Grif swallows the feelings bubbling in his chest and throat. “Grif is gross. And loving him? That’s gross and stupid and no one could ever do it. Especially not me. Because you know, I just- I never cared about him more than- he was just a-”

“Listen,” Grif intervenes before Simmons can break him any further. “If Simmons was in love with anyone stationed in Blood Gulch it was obviously Sarge. He’s got a thing for authority, Dawn.” Grif bites into the bread.

“Yeah!” Simmons pipes in a little too quickly. “I mean- no, wait. I didn’t love- I don’t have a thing for authority!”

“You totally have a thing for authority.” Grif turns to Dawn, “It’s all his daddy issues.”

“What the fuck, Grif?” Simmons meets Grif’s gaze and glares.

“Oh, Mr. Simmons is the worst!” Dawn rolls her eyes with exasperation. “Did you know he told me I needed to lose weight before the wedding?”

“What a tool.” Kai says around a mouth of bread. “So you mentioned bachelorette party, does that mean you’re having a bachelor party, Simmons? I have some friends that could use a gig if you know what I’m saying.”

“A what now?” Simmons looks at Dawn for the correct answer.

“It’s tradition for the best man to plan the bachelor party. So whatever you boys want to do. I’m not going to be a nagging wife or anything, so do whatever you want. And yes, that includes Kai’s friends. Well don’t _do her friends._ ”

“Ok, but what if they _do each other?_ ” Kai side smiles. The cycle begins again; Simmons sputters, Grif groans, Dawn laughs, and Kai keeps the circus in her hands.

 

* * *

 

Simmons pushes the side door of the restaurant open and searches quickly. He’s relieved to see Grif with a cigarette between his fingers leaning against the metal railing around the patio.

“I couldn’t stand her anymore.” He gestures behind him and walks toward Grif.

“Then why are you marrying her?” Grif grunts and looks away.

“Your sister, dumbass. Why’d you have to bring her?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Yes. I do! She sucks. She’s literally always sucked.” Simmons pulls one of the metal chairs from a vacant table and sits himself down, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Because I was pretty damn sure I wasn’t getting through tonight sober and knew I would need someone to drive me home.” Grif looks over at Simmons wistfully.

“Yeah that backfired,” Simmons forges ahead without catching the subtext. “She and Dawn just got another bottle of wine.”

Grif doesn’t respond. He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and sucks in before exhaling the smoke. Simmons coughs.

“I don’t get why you’re still smoking. It’s disgusting and it’s going to kill you.”

“Something’s gotta kill me, and since it’s not going to be you or Caboose it might as well be smokes.” Grif side smiles, Simmons gets pissed when his heart flutters. He reaches up to grab the cigarette and squashes it under the toe of his shoe. “Hey!”

“Oh shut up, I’ll give you ten dollars to make up for it. I’d rather you buy a box of twinkies anyway. Even though that might kill you faster.”

“You don’t get to be pissed about the way I live, asshole. Especially not cigarettes, not anymore.” Grif pulls out the box and taps it down.

“What do you mean not anymore?” Simmons crosses his arms.

“You got me to stop for awhile, remember?” Grif pulls one out and searches for his lighter.

“It was literally one night, and it was because I hated the way it… oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Simmons swipes his hair to the left as his lips press into a thin line.

“The way it tasted, yeah.” Grif considers the lighter in his hand and puts it and the cigarette away, sighing.

“You kept smoking, though!” Simmons recalls triumphantly.

“Yeah and you didn't come back.” Grif quips.

“Because you never asked me!” Simmons drops his hands dramatically. “That’s all you ever had to do.” Simmons looks up hopefully.

“Oh, just ask you? Hold on, let me check _eight fucking years_ of just asking, asshole.” Grif takes a step toward him, causing Simmons to scrape the chair back.

“You lived an hour away. You could have came and visited.”

“Why is it my fault? Why does it have to be my job? I’m the lazy fatass remember?” He steps closer but there’s nowhere left for Simmons to push back into. He’s stuck and Grif smells like memories: a smokey night, a locked door and the feel of Grif’s scraggly beard rubbing against his face.

“Yeah well the joke’s on you, I’m a fucking coward and I didn’t want you to reject me, so hah!” Simmons pushes upward, rising his face to Grif’s with stubborn determination. Their lips are close, tantalizingly close. Simmons breathes in the cloying smell of smoke and catalogs the warmth of Grif’s breath on his lips… and  backs down. “Because, I mean, you didn’t ever really… feel anything anyway… right?”

“Oh yeah, just like you said in there. We could never really love each other.” Grif steps away. Simmons notes the similarity to a crossed child in his voice.  
“Yeah. I mean… it was just, it was a, uh, ridiculous, total joke.” Simmons cocks his head and watches Grif closely.

“Exactly. I mean, feelings? For you?” Grif’s laugh is hollow and stinging. There is no softness or familiarity in his form.

“You don’t have to be mean.”

“No, no. I’m not being mean. Mean would be saying there was no other option so I settled for a whiny, know-it-all, ugly fuck. Because I was bored and wanted to fuck with you.”

“Dude, you don’t have to-”

“I was lonely and bored and you were the perfect target.”

“Seriously?” Simmons watches Grif turn away and head toward the door.

“What a joke, huh. That anyone would ever think we could _actually_ have feelings for each other. We’re a bunch of fuck ups, Simmons. No one will ever love you or me. Just accept it. Get married and chase the idea that some beautiful clueless girl loves you even though you can’t figure out how to even process your own emotions.” Grif leaves Simmons on the patio.

By the time he gets himself back together, the Grifs have left and Dawn is waiting by the restaurant door. He sighs and goes to her, needing some comfort.

“How long have you been in love, Rich?” She quickly looks away, but Simmons spots the tears in her eyes.

“Dawn- I don’t- I have no idea what you’re- Dawn, it’s not like- it’s-”

“Don’t lie to me, Rich. You’ve been nervous for this dinner all week and then tonight, watching you two? God, I’d have to be a total _idiot._ ” She wipes at her cheek.

“Dawn I don’t love anyone. Apparently I’m not capable-”  
“Oh fuck off, Rich. Everytime she opened her mouth you were on edge like you were afraid-”

“She? Kaikaina? You think I love Kaikaina?” Simmons breathes out in relief and braces Dawn with his arms. He leans down to look in her eyes. “I quite literally cannot stand that girl. She’s like an annoying sister. She just has a lot of embarrassing dirt on me, ok? I didn’t want her to make me look like a total dick. I’m just a partial dick. Like a three quarters dick.”

“You aren’t a dick.” Dawn smiles slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rude.”  
“You?” Simmons lets go of her and rubs his forehead. “You’re the nicest person in the whole world, I just completely suck. And I’m going to need a new best man because I _completely suck._ ”

“You don’t suck, babe.” Dawn leans up and kisses Simmons’ cheek. “I don’t think you will anyway, just call Grif later. Guys are so chill, and besides you two have this insane connection, I don’t think anyone could deny it, even if you tried. You obviously mean the world to each other.”

 

* * *

 

After years of denying, Chorus meant everything. That one night in the temple of procreation meant everything. It meant finally letting themselves get a little loose. It meant Simmons and Grif elected to get stuck in the broom closet and ignore the rampant sex. It meant that after a few years, Grif and Simmons finally did something about the tension everyone else had been telling them about. It meant Grif drank enough to lower his inhibitions and Simmons froze up enough to listen. It meant never talking about it afterwards, but enjoying every second of lying beside each other. Simmons swats at the smoke that comes from Grif’s parted lips.

“You really need to do this right now? Right at this instant?” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t sit up.

“See I have this theory, Simmons.” Grif leans over and presses the cigarette into the ground.

“Oh do you? You’re a theorist now?” Simmons resettles himself across Grif’s body.

“I’m trying something new, nerdy isn’t working for you-” Simmons smacks his chest and Grif laughs before continuing- “But maybe it’ll work for me. So, I have this theory. And it’s that you don’t mind the smoking, you just like having something else to control about me.” Grif smiles and when he laughs his belly shakes and disturbs Simmons’ sprawl.

“That’s your theory?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a _shit_ theory.” Simmons pokes a metal finger into Grif’s chest and grins.

“Oh yeah? So then what’s the truth, genius?”

“The truth is that I don’t want you to _die_ , dumbass.”

“Something’s gotta-”

“Something’s gotta kill you, sure. But I’d rather it be me.”

“Dude. What the fuck does that mean? Have you turned team killer on me? Are you going to murder me in a fit of passion?”

“I-I don’t, I’m not actually sure- I mean don’t spouses normally kill each other?”

  
“ _What_?”

“Okay, not like, _normally_ but I mean, if you’re murdered isn’t it normally by the spouse?”

“I’m pretty sure I should be concerned for your concept of marriage, Simmons.”

“I wasn’t saying that the average person kills their spouse. I know what marriage is, jerk. Not that it matters, I’m not going to get married.” Simmons sighs and rubs his face against Grif’s chest contentedly.

“Why not?”

“I mean… I just kind of assumed I guess, I mean, aren’t we-I didn’t want to- I just figured that when everything was over we’d just- I don’t know- I guess I just feel like, aren’t we-”

“Why don’t we not ruin this with talking about feelings.” Grif raises a hand to caress the side of Simmons’ face, leaving his fingers on the orange-red of his neatly trimmed sideburns. “It took this fucking long to get here, I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Ok, but-”

“What did I say about ruining it? If we talk about the feelings then everything could explode.”

“Alright, fine, we don’t have to talk about the feelings. BUT- you said you don’t want to talk about the feelings, so that at least implies that there _are_ feelings.”

“Ruining it!” Grif’s eyebrows rise.

“Just, please? There are feelings?”  
“Yes, Dick, there are definitely feelings.”

“Ok. Good. Because I’m not a slut.” Simmons settles back in.

“Oh god, Simmons. You’re not a slut-”

“Exactly, because we have feelings- which we aren’t talking about, but that definitely exist.”

“I mean sure, but also because all we’re doing is _laying here._ ”

“Well I’m not a… a cuddle slut!” Grif laughs at Simmons’ defensiveness and affectionately runs his hand through his hair.

“No you’re not. You’re a goddamn cuddle prude, dude. This took _literal years_.”

“Well I didn’t know if you had the feelings or not, _Dexter_!” He pouts. Grif guides Simmons’ face towards his and kisses him.

“I have had the feelings for a very long time, you oblivious, stupid, nerd.” And assured that it wasn’t just meaningless, Simmons smiles and pushes a strand of dark hair behind Grif’s ear. He allows his hand to linger as he kisses Grif’s scruffy chin, soft cheek, and warm lips. All while Grif closes his eyes and relaxes, because after all this time, all those hidden emotions, it’s all worth it.


	4. Tomorrow

“So tell me, just one more time Dex, why the fuck you’re doing your boyfriend’s bachelor party? Your boyfriend who is marrying a woman who is not you? Your boyfriend who is going to get  _ married  _ and then never be with you because he will be, and I repeat,  _ married. _ ” Kai drops the pizza boxes onto the counter.

“He isn’t my boyfriend, Kai.” Grif flips through the boxes to make sure at least one of the pizzas is the needed gluten free crust.

“Right, right, my bad. The love of your fucking life.”

“Jesus christ, Kai. He’s just a guy. A stupid fucking guy that I’ve known since basic.”

“That you’re madly, stupidly in love with.”

“You have plans tonight, right? You’re not going to be here to make this suck?” Grif tosses her purse at her. 

“Oh Dex, you know that’s what I’m best at. A nice good-” She shoulders the bag and leans against Grif to drive it in.

“I am your brother! Don’t. Don’t do this to me.” He pushes her closer to the door all while groaning.

“I like a goooood suck-” 

“Leave.” Grif opens the door and begins to shove.

“Not until you tell me why you agreed to be his best man.”

“You don’t get it Kai… I mean, what was I supposed to do? He was gonna get married anyway. I might as well take what I can get. Now, will you just get the fuck out of here? Before the guys get here and Tucker begs you to stay?” 

“Fine, fine, but, hey! When you guys finally fuck tonight, which isn’t avoidable, it’s gonna happen, make sure you treasure every second because he’s getting married. Tomorrow.” Grif shuts the door and rolls his eyes. As he continues tossing the usual clutter haphazardly into the bedrooms, he can’t shake Kai’s words.

He knows she’s right, well not about the fucking thing. That isn’t going to happen even in Grif’s wildest hopes. At most, maybe Simmons might get too drunk and accidentally compliment him, then spend the rest of the night embarrassed and surly. And then the morning will come and he’ll put on a suit that will undeniably taunt Grif with how handsome and untouchable Simmons will be. He will watch his bride come down the aisle and he will say ‘I do’ and any hope that Grif had been squishing down for the past decade will finally be extinguished though the feelings that come with them will never die. They will starve and their aching longing will only feel more raking the longer they refuse to die. That’s alright though; Grif has adjusted to the fact that he will spend the rest of his life desperately loving someone who refuses to love him back.

A doorbell startles him. All of this will be tomorrow (and then for the rest of his life) and tonight he can sit on the couch across from Simmons and watch him laugh with a plastic cup of wine pressed to his lips. He can stare as Simmons excites over the roleplaying games Grif had convinced the team to play just for tonight. He can watch as he absentmindedly brings his long, thin fingers, for the last time without a wedding band, to his red hair to brush it to the right, like he always does. He can sit next to him and smell the reliable scent of irish springs soap that’s been scrubbed so deeply into his fingers there will always be little shred under his nails. He can appreciate the time he has with Simmons before tomorrow.

Grif pulls open the door and there he is, brown sweater over a white button up and face bright red.

“It took you long enough, I thought I was at the wrong house!” Simmons steps over the doorway and looks around at the small apartment as an excuse to not look at Grif. “Thank you for doing this, you didn’t have to, I was an asshole, you did-”

“You’re always an asshole. If I didn’t like it I would have just let you die back then.” Grif shuts the door. They stand, too close, for a minute, too long, and think of things they know they won’t say, it’s too hard.

“I like your place.” Simmons finally squeaks.

“No you don’t.”

“You don’t know what I like or don’t!”

“Yeah well neither do you.” Grif rolls his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

They wait, still too close and still too uncomfortable. Grif refuses to do the work of fixing the situation. He grunts and moves toward the couch, dropping onto it.

“I know what I like.” Simmons grumbles before placing a bag onto the coffee table.

“Name some things you actually like.” Grif challenges.

“I like, well… I like the color red-”

“You like maroon more.”

“Shut up! I like the color red… especially when it’s… dark.”

“Like maroon.” Grif reaches for the bag at the same time Simmons does and their hands touch, and for a moment, they don’t move them. The moment moves on, too fast, and they’ve both retracted. Grif coughs. “Name something else you like.”

“I like roleplaying games, and don’t start naming types of games! I know that I like different games, ok?” Simmons pulls out a bag of dice from the larger bag and continues rooting through it. “I like red wine-”

“But you don’t drink a lot because your parents were-”

“Yeah yeah, so you can remember stuff, wow good for you Grif, what do you want a medal? A snack? I remember stuff about you, too! You practically raised your sister because your mom left. You drink beer for the taste and bottom shelf rum to get drunk. You snore the second you close your eyes. You once fell asleep standing up, on watch, and I weekend-at-bernie’s’ed you so Sarge wouldn’t yell at us. After the meta shit you couldn’t fall asleep for a month unless I talked to you until you drifted off. I  _ know you,  _ asshole.” Grif looks away, uncomfortable. He wanted to enjoy these last few hours but it looks like they’re going to be miserable and dancing around subtext.

“Why is everything you know about me about sleep?” He doesn’t mean to, but he snaps at Simmons.

“You really like sleep.” His voice is quiet. “You also like to pretend that you get annoyed by me but it really makes you smile.” Simmons moves closer to him, visibly swallowing as his hand reaches out tentatively-

“I’m gonna get us drinks.” Grif moves to the kitchen and pours a cup of wine for Simmons before rooting through the liquor cabinet to find bottom shelf rum. Simmons appears in the doorway. Grif watches him as he rifles through his words before settling silent and red. 

Grif pushes the cup to him and does not smile. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, like old times.” He cracks a halfhearted grin that does not meet his eyes. They follow the motion of his hands bringing the cup to his lips, which are crooked upward in a smile taught with more emotions than he can name.

“Enjoy tonight.” He echoes and turns to go into the living room.

“Before tomorrow.” Grif sighs after him.

 

* * *

 

Simmons collects paper plate after paper plate as he tugs Grif’s garbage can around their apartment. Their game having gone on without any notable issues. Well, issues aplenty, but none were surprising: Sarge backseat dm’ed without even knowing what he was doing, Donut tried to make the adventure into a shopping trip, Tucker tried to fuck every NPC Simmons could put in front of them, Caboose ended up with a dog no matter how hard Simmons tried to avoid the situation, and Grif had doomed them all by being entirely too drunk and unfocused and therefore rushing into a big fight unprepared. They had all left when Grif began to snore at his spot on the couch. 

Simmons continues moving around the room quietly; his eyes trained on the sleeping man with his face pressed against the dirty brown upholstery. His hands are curled up near each other; every now and then his thumb twitches over his index finger. He has patchwork scars across his left arm tracing up to his face, where a roughshod field surgery had barely saved his life but left him permanently disfigured. Grif’s eyes are heavily closed, his long eyelashes near drooping down to his cheeks. He shaved a few days ago, Simmons can still tell the timetable by the length of the stubble. He absentmindedly rubs his own lips as he watches the slight tremor of Grif’s own lips when suddenly the bottom one drops to say something.

Simmons looks away, holds his breath, and prays that Grif hadn’t woken up to find him staring at him when he realizes that Grif is only talking in his sleep. He sighs in relief and reaches down to pick up an empty bag of chips and deposit it into the trash. Simmons may not be the smartest when it came to emotions, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had spent the night watching Grif watching him. He had tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. Blamed it on Grif’s constantly filled cup. 

Simmons could feel his resolve fading and had abandoned his own drink when Donut had to bring him back to reality during a daydream. And even after that, he blamed it on his last single night. Sure of course he was going to fantasize a little. It didn’t matter that the daydream had not been something steamy but rather curled up in Grif’s bed while he cooked breakfast and sang in the kitchen. That was a normal thing soon-to-be-married men ( _ Tomorrow! Tomorrow! _ His brain screams)  thought about right? Domestic tranquility with your best man? It’s totally normal.

“Sim’ns…” Simmons straightens up, face bright red, struggling for an excuse.

But Grif simply swallows and makes some more sleep mumbles with eyes tightly closed.

“He’s just been… preoccupied with party planning. That’s all.” Simmons says it out loud, as though maybe the air can convince him that his inner hopes are wrong. “He wouldn’t  _ still  _ care, not after all this time. There’s no fucking way, and he was  _ drunk  _ anyw-”

“Sims… stay.” And Grif nestles his head against the couch. Simmons heart drops and he gets closer to the sleeping man.

“He could be dreaming about anything. He’ll start talking to Sarge next. Just wait.” The empty room does not wait, but Simmons does. On baited breath. Simmons sits on the coffee table, leaving the half picked up room to maintain its mess. He keeps his hands at his side, despite having an unending desire to move them toward Grif. Simmons can hear not only Grif’s heavy sleep breaths, but his own nervous ones as he waits to see what Grif will say next.

“Promise…”

“Promise what?” Before he’s thought about it, Simmons has responded.

“... Mmmnhmm…”

“Promise what, Grif? What do you want from me.” Simmons leans forward on the coffee table to minimize their distance.

“That you…” Simmons has to stop himself from shaking him. “Mmmm… Don’t go.”

“I’m not going-”

“Love you…” Grif trails off.

Simmons does not prod, does not push for me. He does not think about his actions. He does not compartmentalized what he’s about to do. He moves from the table to lean over Grif on the couch, his hand reaches out to cup around Grif’s chin. He draws his face upward and allows himself this one small mistake as their lips make contact. Simmons pulls back and smiles as Grif blinks the sleep in his eyes away.

“Sims?” Grif, still too disoriented, and probably still drunk, grins back.

“What were you dreaming about, Dexter?” Simmons lowers himself back to the table but draws Grif with him so he can keep his hand on some part of him. He settles for his forearm.

“Ummm… Last day before we went home… I think?” With his other arm he wipes his eyes with more force.

“Do you still love me?” Simmons leans in further.

“Never stopped.” Grif gets close until it’s clearly up to Simmons to make the rest of the way. He closes his eyes and heads for the kiss when Grif interrupts him, “When did you? Or did you ever start?” 

Simmons halts; his eyes pop open and his face is definitely changing shades again. “I… of course I loved you.”

“Lov _ ed _ being the important part there, right?” Grif sits back and his eyes dart away. “Do me a favor? Stop breaking my fucking heart, ok? I’m do-” Simmons lips stop him from finishing the statement.

He pulls back and looks away quickly. “We never talked about feelings, ok? I don’t know how to do  _ this.  _ I never did, you know that, so stop being such an asshole and just, can we, I don’t know, maybe not fight about this? Ok? Please? Grif? Can we not fight about this. I think I love you-”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure, dick face. Though I don’t know why, because you  _ absolutely suck _ Grif. You blow! You are a...a terrible person and apparently you’re the only one I am capable of loving! Because  _ I completely suck. _ There is that what you wanted, huh? A big speech about how much we both suck and are the only ones out there for each other, because that’s what you’re getting, let me get an itemized list out about how terrible this is but how the only thing I want to do right now is just fall asleep in your arms, preferably naked but we don’t have to get into that right now, but either way number 1 reason this is terrib-”

“You want to fuck?”

“Shut up, I have to get through this list- but yes, asshole, that is the general idea- Reason number 1 that this is a terrible idea, I’m supposed to be getting married  _ tomorrow. _ Reason number 2 that this is a terrible idea, Tucker’s going to know and he’s going to give us shit for ever. Reason number 3 this is a terrible idea-”

“It is a terrible idea, Dick. Like, I’m not disagreeing. But….”

“But what?”  
“It’s a _pretty good_ terrible idea.” And Grif is smiling his half smile and Simmons, like usual, can’t ignore that one.

“Fuck this list.” Simmons climbs onto Grif’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him. His teeth hold on and tug against Grif’s lower lip as Grif wraps his arms around Simmons’ back. Simmons presses his forehead into Grif’s and they separate their mouths for a moment. 

“Um Grif?” He says as Grif kisses sloppily up his neck. Simmons pushes his face back so they’re looking at one another. “I did the calculations… I don’t just  _ think  _ it. I can definitely prove I love you, so it’s not just an idea, ok, it’s… it’s facts. I love you.” Grif smiles. Not a half hearted fake smile, not a sly half smile, a full on smile that knocks into Simmons like a hurricane.

“What about tomorrow?” The smiles falters.

“Let tomorrow worry about itself.”

 

* * *

  
  


The reds and blues are yelling at dinner; exchanging addresses and making reunion plans before they even leave. Grif watches Caboose  from a table in the corner, he swings Carolina around in a circle as his laughter fills the room. Simmons pulls a chair up beside Grif. Neither are laughing or smiling.

“So, are we going to talk about this?” Simmons whispers.

“Fuck, are we really going to act like some high school couple about to go to college?” Grif rolls his eyes. “ _ Promise me you won’t find another girl, Richard! _ ”

“ _ Oh Dexter, I never could! _ ” They snicker. “But, honestly, Grif, I mean, what…. What now? After tomorrow… it’s going to be different, what do we do when everything’s different?”

“I mean… I’m going to New York too, sure it’s an hour or whatever away, but I couldn’t get Kai to move upstate. We’ll just have to… I don’t know, actually try?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Simmons huffs a haughty breath through his nose and catches Grif’s exasperated glance. “Don’t! Come on, I mean, we’ve always been so close, it’s going to be… different.” 

“You could move to the city with us. You could…” Grif watches to make sure everyone else is far enough away before continuing, “Stay with me. We could be together.”

“What do I tell my family? I got a boyfriend in the marines and now I’m going to-”

“Tell them you want to live in the city, shit dude. You don’t have to tell everyone. I don’t care about what you say, I care about…” Grif raises his eyebrows to cue Simmons to fill in the blank.

“What?” Simmons cocks his head in confusion.

“Oh god, you really need me to say this out loud? You. I care that you’re near me and that we don’t just have tomorrow, that we have the rest of our lives.”

“Forever?”

“Oh my god, Sims.” Grif reaches a hand under the table and holds onto Simmons’. His fingers instinctively wrap around Grif’s and he breathes out comfortably. “Yes, forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. Guys I'm so sorry for this delay. My life got... weird for a bit. Also I rewrote and rewrote this chapter multiple times. So hopefully it was worth the wait. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey there, I'm alive! I missed writing and decided to get back into it in a really rude way so I hope you enjoy some pain and repressed feelings! This shouldn't be a long one, maybe 4 or 5 chapters with each following this format of Grif/Simmons/Memory.  
> -Ren


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